


Caustic’s Care Package

by jimikat



Series: You Asked Me Not To Leave [1]
Category: Apex Legends (Video Games)
Genre: Comfort, Embedded Images, Fluff, Just kinda a bunch of awkward softness, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-03
Updated: 2020-10-03
Packaged: 2021-03-07 22:34:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,842
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26785240
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jimikat/pseuds/jimikat
Summary: Elliott isn’t feeling so great after a trip to the dentist. He gets stuck with Caustic as his caretaker.
Relationships: Caustic | Alexander Nox/Mirage | Elliott Witt
Series: You Asked Me Not To Leave [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2183118
Comments: 8
Kudos: 52





	Caustic’s Care Package

**Author's Note:**

> Who decided while on nitrous that they needed to write this?  
> Yep, it’s me.

It’s times like this when Elliott wishes he was a little more _Mirage-y_. Mirage wouldn’t be such a wuss about a little pain. Mirage makes a living out of getting messed up. Mirage wouldn’t be a pathetic little mess of sad moans and wincing movements as he’s curled on the couch, tenderly touching his aching jaw.

But Elliott isn’t Mirage right now, and he doesn’t exactly feel like braving through the pain. Sometimes a guy just wants to curl up into a couch, wrap himself up in a quilt his mom made him last Christmas that’s covered in little pictures of his own face, and feel miserable.

The gentle vibrations of his phone rouse Elliott from his pitiful sighs. Nat’s grinning face pops up on the screen as he drags the phone over to himself.

“Nat, it hurts,” he groans as soon as he answers the call, flopping down against the armrest of the couch.

“Aw, did things not go okay at the dentist?” she asks, her voice soft and apologetic.

Flashbacks to Elliott trying not to hyperventilate as they hooked up the nitrous, which did practically nothing to distract from metal stabbing into his gums, nor the shriek of the drills as they carved away at his beautiful teeth that had utterly betrayed him. Thirty years of brushing and flossing and this is how they repay him? He blinks the memories away.

“I-it went fine, I guess. Hey, uh, you still coming by?” he asks, and he hates how needy it sounds. Renee had planned to hang out with him today, but she got caught up in something work-related and pawned him off onto Nat. He knew Path would have been here in a second but he wasn’t sure if he was quite ready for that kind of energy.

“Elliott, I’m _really_ sorry,” Nat begins, her voice tight. And suddenly, without even the promise of companionship, his apartment feels infinitely more empty and cold.

“That, uh, that doesn’t sound great,” Elliott says, a lackluster chuckle trying at jovial but landing somewhere near pathetic instead.

“There’s a problem with the ring and they’re asking me to take a look at it before tomorrow’s game. I’m so sorry, _mon ami_ , I really tried to get out of it, but...”

Great… just great. C’mon, Witt, pretend you’re in front of the camera. Drag Mirage out, if you have to. Don’t make the kid worry.

“S’fine, Nat. No worries! I’m doing fine. It’s all fine! It’ll be _fine_.” Okay, well, maybe the pitch and volume was a little overkill but… close enough.

“That isn’t all. I felt so bad… so I have it all arranged. The one person who always helped me most when I was feeling icky,” Nat says confidently, a bit of pride in her voice.

Oh no…

“Nat—”

“He should be there any minute.”

“Please, no, just… the guy hates me. And I look like a train wreck. This is a terrible idea. And they, uh, they call _you_ the smart one,” Elliott says, adding a feeble laugh.

“He doesn’t hate you. You just… he says you just get under his skin a little bit. But that’s as Mirage! I know he’ll like Elliott, if he gets the chance.”

“Kid, nobody likes Elliott more than they like Mirage. Trust me.”

Elliott can hear someone yelling distantly from Natalie’s end. “Shoot, Elliott, I’ve got to go. Just try to relax today, _oui_?”

“Nat— Ugh, nope, she hung up. Okay,” Elliott sighs. Just as a knock on the door sounds.

Elliott really hopes she didn’t actually do this. Maybe this was just some prank. Maybe the good Doctor Caustic won’t actually be waiting outside that door with… Yeesh, what would Caustic even do to try and cheer someone up? Detail the best way to kill puppies? Bring out an old scrapbook of people choking on his gas traps, and chuckle softly while telling you the story of each one?

But, hey, the guy seems like he’s kind of a second father to Nat, so… he can’t be _all_ bad, right? Maybe, uh, maybe “Caustic” is just a mask for this guy, like “Mirage” is for Elliott.

Another knock hits the door, this one sounding a little more irritated. Is it possible for a knock to sound irritated? It must be, because this one _does_.

With a groan, Elliott slides off the couch, still wrapped up in his smiling blanket, and shuffles to the door. He tries not to think about how he looks. Old sweatpants, a sweater with a stretched out neckline, day-old hair that keeps falling in his face… it’s not a great look. He takes a steadying breath, adjusts his hair for good measure, and tugs the door open.

Sure enough, framed in his open doorway, is Caustic. Kind of? It’s a side of Caustic he’s not sure he’s ever really seen. The hulking man is wrapped in a navy blue cardigan and a mustard v-neck half-tucked into well-fitted grey chinos. Elliott tries not to focus on the patch of chest hair peeking out at the dip of his collar. His hair is slicked back, but more softly than usual. Maybe he was using less product? A pair of glasses that hadn’t been in style in decades are perched on that large, bent nose. He looks like… a kind of cool grandpa? That’s a little unfair, Elliott supposes. The man isn’t _that_ old. A cool dad, then. Tucked under an arm and resting against his soft abdomen is a paper bag filled with… something.

At any other time, Elliott might have assumed instruments of torture but… maybe he should give the guy the benefit of the doubt here.

“I’m getting the impression I was perhaps not expected,” Caustic says gruffly, eyeing Elliott with an upticked brow. And for just a second Elliott swears he sees the doctor’s stance soften, sink back into himself, as uncertainty weighs down on those broad shoulders.

It’s… kind of endearing? He’s used to being daunted in Caustic’s presence. He usually tries to keep his distance. Even if Natalie cares for the guy. Heck, even Renee has a weird camaraderie with him if they just focus on talking about how great Nat is.

“No, uh, s-sorry, big guy. Yeah, Nat just called. You, uh, you didn’t have to, you know, to...” Elliott’s voice trails off as Caustic gazes down at him, waiting with surprising patience as Elliott fumbles his way through his words. Or maybe he just enjoys watching the younger man suffer. The trickster heaves a sigh before stepping aside. “Sorry. C’mon in.”

“That won’t be necessary. I’m simply dropping this off,” Caustic says, jostling the bag in his arms, making it crinkle slightly. Something inside rattles. His eyes narrow as they drift down along Elliott’s shrouded form, his cheek still a little swollen from this morning’s procedure.

“What’s in it?” Elliott asks, stepping closer to try to peer into the bag.

“I wouldn’t know,” Caustic rumbles, sniffing with irritation as Elliott leans towards him. “These are Ms. Paquette’s machinations, not my own. Here.” He presses the paper bag into Elliott’s chest, who scrambles to get ahold of it with blanket-draped arms. It was heavier than he was expecting. And… warm?

“Thanks for, uh, for the stuff,” he forces out, blinking up at the taller man. Caustic holds his gaze for a moment longer than propriety might dictate before nodding and turning to leave. And a very lonely Elliott is spewing the words before he ever means to say them.

“D’you wanna come in for a bit?”

The older man freezes, his back to Elliott. Without turning, his voice rumbles a soft, “Why?”

“Oh, uh, yeah, no, I get it, you probably have stuff to do, no reason you’d want to—”

“No,” Caustic says, his voice tight as he turns back, a grimace wrinkling his face. “My apologies, that wasn’t my intent with the question.”

Elliott cocks his head, brows knit together. Was… was the big bad murder doctor trying to be… _nice_? “What _was_ your int-intun-in-uh, what’d you mean then?”

Caustic sniffs, rolling his lips together, before setting his face into something less concerned. He grabs the bag from Elliott’s arms without providing any clarification and steps past him, wafting a warm scent of cedar and soil as he does. Huh. Elliott honestly would have expected him to smell like a hospital; bright and cold and chemical-y. But this was… well… warm. And nice.

The apartment isn’t quite what Caustic had been expecting to find as the home of Mirage. His section on the transport is garish and devoted to stroking his own ego. Caustic isn’t opposed to a little self adulation, though he prefers his to come in the form of appreciation of his accomplishments, not his image.

This apartment, however, has something Mirage’s space on the transport lacks. Namely, taste. Hints of the man here and there, though toned down. Soft greys and warm yellows, framed photos of people whom Caustic doesn’t feel necessary to examine too closely. It isn’t a tidy apartment, by any means. Clutter fills most spaces, though it feels deliberate. Organized chaos.

The bar seating of the kitchen counter is spread with untidily scrawled notes, a closed laptop, various bits of machinery that seem to be related to his holographic endeavors.

It is a perfectly fine little living space.

“Sorry, it’s a b-bit of a mess,” Elliott stammers, padding softly behind. Caustic sets the groceries on the counter, pausing to examine the hunched figure awkwardly sidling up to the opposing counter, still draped in a blanket covered in…

“Of course it’s covered in your face,” Caustic sighs, eyes glancing over the dozens of grinning, winking, laughing, pouting images of Mirage.

Elliott feels his cheeks heat up, awkwardly rubs the back of his neck. “Mom got big into quilting last year and, yeah, you know what, nevermind…”

Caustic chuckles softly as he looks at the man. To say he had never paid attention to Mirage wouldn’t be entirely true. It is hard to ignore someone who always insists he be squarely in the center of the limelight. Harder, even, to ignore someone with so lovely a face, framed so perfectly by loose ebon curls. Those latter reasons Caustic, of course, prefers to keep to himself.

But it isn’t Mirage who had captured Caustic’s attention. It is the stuttering, generous, insecure man who shines through when the cameras go dark. It isthe slipping of the mask as exhaustion and anxiety start to weigh on him, and the way he still finds the energy to smile. There is something about the neediness and hunger in the way he watches his friends, eager to be involved but hesitant to insert himself, and it tugs at Caustic’s heart. Caustic pretends to be something of a loner. It is as much a facade for him as Mirage is for Elliott.

When Natalie had called him, asking him to pick up Elliott’s prescription and maybe keep him company, he hadn’t waited as long as he should have to answer in the affirmative. He wonders now if Natalie had noticed the stolen glances, if this is some machiavellian scheme on her part to force Caustic to actually talk to the younger man…

“How are your pain levels?” Caustic asks as he begins emptying the grocery bag, and he hates how clinical it sounds. Even when he tries to be comforting it just… doesn’t come through. He carefully lines a few boxes of instant pudding and gelatin along the counter.

“Oh, uh, I’m fine. They’re fine,” Elliott says, trying to push back the grimace as a particularly sharp pain shoots through his jaw. Caustic glances up at Elliott over the tops of his glasses, a scrutinizing gaze immediately realizing he’s full of shit.

“Lying isn’t productive in this scenario, Witt,” Caustic says gruffly, continuing his work. He pulls an icepack from the bag, wraps it carefully in a towel covered in little green Nessies, and hands it to Elliott without looking.

“Cute,” Elliott grins.

“Hold it against the swelling for ten minutes at a time,” Caustic instructs, choosing to ignore the comment. He pulls another icepack out and puts it in the freezer. “Have you eaten anything?”

Elliott slides onto one of the bartstools, obediently holding the icepack to his face. “Uh, no? I literally _just_ had metal drills exav-ecsuv-ex—”

“Excavating,” Caustic offers softly, pulling a pill bottle from the bag and setting it on the counter.

“Yeah. That. That to my teeth. Eating hasn’t really been top of my mind. Those pills, however…” Elliott starts to reach for the bottle but Caustic’s hand snatches them away with a scowl.

“Are meant to be taken with food,” Caustic finishes with a stern expression. “You’ll make yourself sick otherwise.”

“I’m sure I can handle…” Elliott’s words fade away as Caustic carefully lifts a large plastic container from the bottom of the bag. As he pries the lid off, steam erupts from within, carrying with it the scent of broccoli cheddar soup.

“Bowls?” Caustic queries.

“Oh. Cupboard to the left of the sink. Silverware’s in the drawer below. Hey, that smells real good, big guy. Did Natalie make this? I didn’t know she cooked.”

Elliott can just faintly see the doctor’s cheeks tinge with red as he turns away towards the sink.

“She most certainly can not. And to that end you should be grateful to know she had no hand in preparing this.”

“I thought you said she put this little care package together,” Elliott presses, taking another sniff of the soup.

Caustic grabs two bowls, two spoons, and as he turns back towards Elliott, he is pointedly avoiding his gaze. “That… may have been an exaggeration.”

“An exagger— wait, did _you_ cook this?” Elliott asks, trying to usher his jaw gently back into contact with his face.

“It was nothing,” Caustic mumbles as he carefully ladels soup into the bowls.

“Did she do _any_ of this?” Elliott asks, setting the icepack aside, tugging the bag towards him, and carefully spilling out its remaining contents. He glances up at Caustic who continues to pointedly not look at him.

It might get him thoroughly beaten in tomorrow’s game, but Elliott can’t help himself as he leans forward, a glint in his eye and a cocky smirk twisting his lips. “Hey, does that mean you did all this just for little ol’ me, Doc?”

Caustic looks up, his face twisted in an irritation that doesn’t account for the pink hue dusting his cheeks. He opens his mouth to say something, fails to find a remark scathing enough, and instead grumbles, “Your ten minutes have not expired. Keep the icepack in place.” He snaps the lid back on the soup roughly.

Elliott chuckles to himself, pressing the Nessie-covered pack against his cheek, and turns his attention back to the care package’s contents.

One of the items is wrapped in brown paper, and Elliott carefully fishes it out one-handed. Underneath the wrapping is a mug with a very childlike drawing of Elliott and a little heart around it.

“Aww, this is so cute! Did you—”

“That one actually _was_ Natalie’s doing,” Caustic says, and a smirk twists the corner of his lip as he looks at it. “She painted it last night.” He hesitates, narrows his eyes, “You might actually refrain from drinking out of it. I have no idea what type of paint she used.”

“Eh, she’s smart, I’m sure it’s fine,” Elliott shrugs, gathering the mug up to his chest protectively.

He starts to paw through the other items. An unopened box of Jasmine tea bags, a set of face masks, a carefully folded scarf in a warm ochre, and a single hair clip covered in a black and yellow tiled pattern. He takes the clip, running a thumb along its smooth surface. It’s cheap, probably found in the kid’s aisle of some department store. But Elliott finds himself grinning like an idiot.

“Hey. Like on my armour,” he says, looking up at Caustic, who is very carefully slipping spoons into the two soup bowls.

The doctor draws his eyes up to meet Elliott’s, his chest tensing at that smile. Something so rarely directed at him. The smile falters as Elliott’s eyes waver under the intensity of Caustic’s gaze.

“T-thanks,” Elliott manages to stammer softly. “You, uh, you kinda put some thought into all of this, huh?”

Caustic doesn’t know what comes over him. He is not a man who acts on impulse. Every move, every word is carefully calculated. But he watches himself reach for Elliott, fingertips grazing the younger man’s hand as he takes the clip. He leans forward over the counter, brushing Elliott’s obstinate curls from his face and loosely clipping them to the side.

The hand holding the icepack drifts down as Elliott blinks up at Caustic, feeling a rush of heat rise in his face. His eyes fall to Caustic’s lips, twisting up in a ghost of a smile as the doctor’s thumb skims along his temple.

Caustic suddenly pulls away, turns his head to cough lightly into his shoulder. He pushes a bowl towards Elliott, grabs one for himself.

“It’s getting cold,” he murmurs.

“O-oh, yeah. I usually just eat on the couch, if, uh, if you want to, um,” Elliott shrinks in on himself, grabbing the bowl and nodding towards the living room. Caustic nods, grabbing the discarded icepack and following Elliott. They sit down in silence, Elliott curling up in his usual corner, Caustic stiffly lowering himself into the opposing side.

“It smells good,” Elliott says, bringing the soup up to his face, basking in the warmth of the steam rising from it. He draws the spoon up to his lips, hoping distantly that this isn’t some grand ruse to poison him once and for all. And sure, maybe he waited half a second until Caustic slipped his own spoonful into his mouth, but hey, that’s just a coincidence.

“Wow,” Elliott says, smacking after his first spoonful of soup. The nutmeg might have been a little more prominent than he expected, but it was a nice touch. Homey. “Hey, that’s actually pretty good.”

Caustic just hums softly, accepting the compliment without comment. They eat in silence for a moment until, surprisingly, Caustic breaks it.

“I hope my sudden arrival did not leave you… wholly disappointed.”

“You, uh, you thought I’d be disappointed if you showed up?” Elliott asks, his heart suddenly aching for the man. The sentiment is something Elliott understands well. He just never expected it from someone like Caustic.

“You were expecting Ms. Pacquette’s companionship and instead received my own. Were I in your shoes, yes, I believe I would be quite disappointed,” Caustic says, attempting to sound casual, but the tension in his voice shows through just enough to be heard.

“I think… more surprised. I kinda thought you hated me,” Elliott admits.

“It would seem,” Caustic begins, glancing up, adjusting his glasses just for something to do with idle hands, “That I do not.”

Both men avert their gazes, focusing once again on the task of eating. The silence gets to be a little thicker than the soup, and Elliott can’t bear it any more. He focuses in on the one topic the two men share that isn’t just how their jobs kind of revolve around trying to kill each other sometimes.

“So, you and Nat are pretty close, right?”

“Yes,” Caustic replies. Not exactly leaving a lot of room for conversation...

“How, uh, how d’you know her?”

Caustic hesitates, coughing softly again and lowering his bowl. He glances at Elliott but quickly looks away. “Her father and I were… acquainted.”

“Acquainted?” Elliott asks.

“Involved,” Caustic clarifies.

“Oh. _Oh._ Really? I, uh, I had no idea.”

“It wasn’t public,” Caustic says simply, his voice quiet.

Wasn’t public… So when Luc Pacquette died, and everyone consoled Natalie on the loss of her father… there had been another person grieving, whom no one knew to console. Perhaps that was why he and Natalie had clung so closely to one another after her father’s death…

“I’m sorry,” Elliott says, trying to cram enough meaning into the words to make up for the dozens of times it had never been said to the older man.

“I try not to dwell on the past,” Caustic rumbles, quick to brush away the words, quick to hide the fact that they hit his heart heavily. “And what of you. What is the nature of your relationship with Ms. Pacquette?”

“I mean I like to think I’m something of a mentor to the kid,” Elliott says with a proud grin, earning an audible scoff from the other man. “Hey, I bet she looks up to me or something.”

“You certainly are taller than her,” Caustic muses with a dark chuckle, scraping the last bit of soup from his bowl and setting it on the end table. He settles back into the couch, crossing a leg over the other. “And are you interested in her?”

The question catches Elliott off guard. He coughs, fighting not to spray his living room with a mouthful of soup. “W-what? N-no, of course not. She’s like a kid sister to me, c’mon, man.”

Caustic nods without much expression. “Good.”

Elliott chuckles, leaning in. “Good, huh? Why, you got something in mind, Doctor?”

“Don’t be ridiculous,” Caustic harrumphs. Elliott reaches out to poke his arm, gaining him a withering glare.

“C’mon, admit it. You think I’m gorgeous. It’s okay, big guy, you’re not the first.”

“I’m leaving,” Caustic grumbles, fighting to hide an amused tone as he stands.

“Naw, c’mon, I was just kidding!” Elliott laughs, grabbing at the older man’s arm just as he takes a step away and tugging him back. Caustic staggers, pivoting towards Elliott’s grip. His knee slides onto the cushions next to Elliott’s thigh as he falls towards the couch, his arm reaching out to catch himself against the headrest.

He looms over Elliott, his glasses slipping slowly down his nose as he stares down at a man who had fully anticipated being crushed.

Elliott blinks up at him, eyes wide, cheeks flushed. “S-sorry. That was dumb.”

Caustic knows he should move. He should straighten up, he should say something. But those eyes gazing up at him have him transfixed, rooted, mute. Caustic has always prided himself on his way with words; why is it that when he’s around this man, they fail him so utterly?

“I was just kidding around,” Elliott says softly. “Sit back down?”

“... If you insist,” Caustic responds, trying to hide the way his chest leaps at the fervently spoken request. Elliott rewards him with a wide grin that immediately turns to a wince.

“Does it hurt?” Caustic asks gently, resisting the urge to gently stroke the man’s cheek.

“Y-yeah, a little. It’s fine, though, I—”

“I’ll retrieve your medication,” Caustic interrupts, leaning back and standing.

“Naw, it’s okay, I can do it, I’m fine,” Elliott says, starting to stand as well.

Caustic’s large hand presses against Elliott’s chest, ushering him gently back into the couch, accompanied by a single word.

“Stay.”

Words fail the younger man at the touch, and he simply nods. Satisfied, Caustic grabs the discarded ice pack and gently presses it against Elliott’s cheek.

“Ten minutes,” he says. Elliott nods, bringing a hand up to hold the pack in place as Caustic slides his own away.

The doctor takes his empty bowl from his hands, collects his own from the end table, and returns to the kitchen.

Elliott watches silently as Caustic sets water to heat on the stovetop, washes the dishes, and begins to collect two mugs from the same cupboard in which he found the bowls.

“Oh, hey, I wanna use Nat’s mug,” Elliott pipes up.

Caustic throws him a wary glance but acquiesces, and soon returns to the couch with two steaming mugs of tea and a single pill. He hands the mug Natalie had made and the pill to Elliott.

“You letting me have my pills finally?” Elliott asks, popping the pill and swallowing it dry. “What a gentleman.”

Caustic only grunts as he sits back down, a little closer to the center of the couch this time. A little closer to Elliott. As his weight settles into the cushions, Elliott can feel the dip of the couch draw him towards the man. He resists the urge to follow its gentle ushering to Caustic’s side. Resists the curiosity of how nice it might be to feel his thigh brush up against his own.

He shrinks back a bit into the corner as Caustic busies himself with remotes, turning on the television without asking and navigating until he finds some mid grade crime serial marathon.

“This your kind of show?” Elliott asks, breathing deeply the earthy, floral scent of the tea, waiting for it to cool down. Caustic chuckles, setting the remotes down.

“Natalie always told me they put her right to sleep. I assumed you could probably use the rest, in case it holds true for you as well,” he says, a hand impulsively sliding to Elliott’s leg and patting it gently before quickly returning to his own lap.

“So, uh, so you don’t watch them for inspiration, huh?” Elliott grins, and he finds himself shifting to the side, stretching out his legs to rest them on Caustic’s lap.

Without looking at him, Caustic grins darkly, hands running along his calves. “I don’t need the assistance of fiction authors to craft the best way to kill a man. As you should well know.”

A chill shoots up through Elliott’s spine. But he’s quickly distracted as the man begins to slowly rub his feet, gentle pressure applied by strong hands.

Elliott lets a soft moan escape his lips before he can catch it. He hopes the doctor hadn’t heard it over the stiffly delivered lines drifting from the television. The chuckle that emanates from Caustic’s belly, however, indicates otherwise.

They watch in silence for a while, Caustic’s hands relieving aches in Elliott’s feet he hadn’t even realized were there. The medicine begins to kick in as the pain subsides, the tea lulling him into a blissful state of satisfaction. Elliott can feel himself drifting off, catching himself every now and again so as not to spill his tea.

He doesn’t know how much time has passed, or how long his eyes had been closed, but when his eyes flutter open the episode is ending, his mug had been collected from his hands and placed on the end table, and Caustic is absently stroking his feet with calloused fingertips.

Elliott groans, shifting, failing to suppress a heavy yawn. Caustic turns his attention to the younger man with a warm smile.

“Feeling any better?” he asks gently, his hands self-consciously ceasing their movements along his feet.

“Yeah. Guess you’re a good nursemaid. I, uh, I never would have taken you for such a teddy bear, old man,” Elliott chuckles sleepily, pulling his blanket tighter around him and blinking heavy eyelids.

Caustic hums. “Perhaps age has softened the edges…” He gently strokes Elliott’s foot again, eyes drifting up his obscured form to the caramel eyes staring back at him. He can’t hold the gaze long, and with a gentle pat on his leg, he coughs awkwardly and starts to lean up. “Well. You should rest. I’ll... leave you to it.”

He grabs the remote, raises it to turn the television. As he does Elliott sits up, sliding his feet off the man’s lap and reaching for the remote. His hand covers Caustic’s, pressing down gently to lower the device, meekly meeting the man’s questioning gaze.

“Hey, um… you can stay a little. If, uh, if you w-want to,” Elliott offers, realizing now how full his home feels, and dreading the absence.

“I… wouldn’t want to impose,” Caustic says stiffly. Elliott takes the remote from his hands and tosses it to the other end of the couch.

“I want you to,” Elliott admits, a sheepish expression on his face, surprising himself at the words. He certainly hadn’t expected to enjoy Caustic’s presence. And maybe he felt a little silly asking him to stay, admitting that he wanted him here. But relief spreads through him as Caustic settles back into the couch with a soft rumble of contentment in his chest.

As another episode begins, Elliott leans into the larger man, nestling himself against his chest. He feels Caustic’s chest stiffen in surprise, then relax again as he stretches an arm behind Elliott, pulling him tighter against him. Elliott buries his face into Caustic’s cardigan, breathing in deeply the scent of him, his eyelids growing heavy.

Neither of them are certain what this is. All Elliott knows is that it is easy and warm and comforting. All Caustic knows is the way his heart beats more fervently with Elliott’s face pressed against his chest. And neither are anxious for whatever it is to end.

And they both resolve to thank Natalie for bailing.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading, friend! 💖 Feel free to follow me on Twitter or IG. ☺️
> 
> Twitter (main): @itsjimikat  
> Twitter (nsfw): @jimikatdraws  
> Instagram: @jimikatdraws


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